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by Amy Herdy | November 4, 2011 · 6:00 am

Writing Diary of a Predator: A Memoir

Part two.

When I first started writing the book, I put together the requisite non-fiction book proposal: I wrote the first chapter, summaries of the rest of the chapters, and an overview. Then, as I said earlier, the interested publisher got fired, my literary agent never called me back and I decided to give the book project a break.

A really long break.

Every once in a while, I’d open up the Word file and peek at the chapter and the summaries. It was a standard true-crime book, told in narrative fashion, which is my favorite form of writing and one that I learned at the St. Petersburg Times. And slowly, the heavy rock of discouragement lifted, and I started to be drawn back to the book more and more.

The tweaking began.

And since all writers need feedback, I started cautiously asking different people if they’d give their opinions. I eventually got downright bold about it, emailing the entire thing first to my sister, and then to a close friend.

“Not bad,” they both said. “But you need to put more of yourself in it.”

Ak! That’s not what reporters do. We are classically trained in, Just the facts, ma’am, and we don’t insert ourselves into our stories.

But these were people whose opinions I respected, so I revealed a little more of what it was like to report on that serial rapist case.

And they became like hungry baby birds: “More! More!”

So I did. And the more I revealed, the easier the self disclosure became. Soon it wasn’t enough to just detail the process and the effects of covering this case, I decided that I needed to include some of my history so that the reader would have context for my reactions and choices.

And then I took a deep breath, and gave the bare bones of the book to an audience I was sure would hate it: Cops.

To be continued…

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by Amy Herdy | October 27, 2011 · 9:50 pm

Writing Diary of a Predator: A Memoir

Part one: During all my years as a working journalist, my favorite part of the process was sitting down at my desk with a stack of notebooks beside me and a blank computer screen in front of me. I loved it for the Rubik’s cube-like challenge of putting all the details neatly into place, even though this usually happened under the constraints of a ticking deadline clock and sometimes with an editor literally breathing down my neck, demanding, “How close are you?”

I never had writer’s block, ever. I never missed a deadline. Since I usually wrote the lead to the story in my head while driving back to the newsroom, and the lead is the hardest part, the rest of it would fall into place like a row of obedient dominoes.

And then I decided to write a book, and found to be true what a friend of mine predicted, “Writing that book is going to kick your ass.”

The volume of the material was overwhelming: The court file alone was more than 500 pages. I had dozens of filled notebooks, stacks of documents I’d copied from Brents’ case file at the public defender’s office, transcripts of police interviews and copies of police reports.

I also had hundreds of pages of letters and journal entries from Brents, and he continued to write, sending letters every week. They filled a filing cabinet, and when that overflowed, I bought another.

The idea of the book soon loomed like the proverbial elephant in the living room, only this elephant was a hulking, smelly woolly mammoth with sharp spikes for tusks. I wanted nothing to do with it.

I told myself that I was too busy to try to start writing the book, that the material was so complex that it couldn’t be tackled in between juggling a family and a full-time job.

I told myself I needed time to get over the crushing blow of having a major, albeit controversial, publisher interested in it only to be fired the very week we were supposed to meet, swiftly followed by the crushing blow of my first literary agent simply disappearing on me.

And all those things were true. But what I really needed in order to be able to write that book was to slowly come to the realization that this wasn’t going to be simply a true-crime book; that in order to tell the story properly I had to do it fully. That meant opening a vein and revealing parts of myself that were deeply personal, as well as stepping back from my beloved craft and writing about the dark side of journalism itself.

Coming up: Writing Diary of a Predator: A Memoir, part two.

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by Amy Herdy | October 22, 2011 · 6:03 pm

Here’s an Excerpt from the Book Diary of a Predator: A Memoir

I read this at the book signing held at The Book Cellar in Louisville, so I thought it only fair to share it with the rest of you.

And for those who have emailed me and said they’d like to know more about the process of writing this book–please know I will get to that this week in a series of posts. Writing this book was a formidable, complicated task that I put off for years until suddenly I knew it was time. And then it flowed. But more on that later. Here’s the excerpt. Thanks for visiting.

-Amy

From Diary of a Predator: A Memoir

He sat on top of a brick wall that bordered a downtown Denver parking lot and waited.

It was a perfect vantage point—high enough to give him a bird’s eye view of every direction and yet shielded by the shadows of nearby buildings to prevent any glint of streetlight reflecting off his wire-rimmed glasses. As a hunter of humans, he knew the importance of those things.

Ever the patient wolf, he flexed his thick forearms while he waited for a sheep to appear. And then he saw her and had instant recognition. He knew he had seen her before—he never forgot a face—and it only took him a moment to remember where: first on TV months ago, talking about some story dealing with rape in the military, and then later on the Denver Post elevator. A reporter. He’d still been in prison when those military rape stories ran, and watched her on the news. She was sharp and earnest, and had a fierce energy to her that had caught his attention. She reminded him of that social worker he once knew, the modern-day crusader. She also had long brown hair, like Teresa.

Now she was within his sights, and he sized her up: Wearing a dark suit, she was tall and athletic-looking, but he had brute strength
and the element of surprise. And it would be so easy—just a hop off the wall and a few quick strides, and he could cut her off before she
reached her car. No one was around to hear if she tried to scream.

Just then, she passed under a street light, and through the curtain of her long, straight brown hair, he caught a glimpse of her face. She looked so . . . sad. Heavily burdened, as if any moment, she would dissolve into tears. He sat rooted as she unlocked her car and got inside and then did something unexpected: laying her cell phone on the dash, she pulled out a pen from behind her right ear, tucked her hair back in its place, closed her eyes, and just sat there.

Minutes passed, and he stared, feeling unable to move. He found himself scanning the street, not wanting anyone to disturb her. Then
she sighed deeply, started the Jeep’s engine, and drove away.

Still seated on the wall, the man stared after the car. He would see her again.

He’d make a point of it.

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Tagged as book, book reading, diary, Diary of a predator, journalist, memoir

by Amy Herdy | October 13, 2011 · 8:07 pm

A Heartening Response to the Initial Book Reading of “Diary of a Predator: A Memoir”

I’m a journalist, so cynicism comes a little too easy.

The first book signing for Diary of a Predator: A Memoir, held at the Book Cellar in Louisville, Colo.

And I have to admit I was nervous about how “Diary of a Predator: A Memoir” would be received. It’s not just a true crime book; it’s a dual memoir about a serial rapist and my time as a journalist covering his case, and the life-changing effects that had on me. It’s not your everyday kind of memoir.

To say that I reveal personal details in this book is an understatement. But I felt I needed to reveal my history for this story, in addition to the journalistic process, so that the reader would have context as to the impact this case had on my life.

In other words, full disclosure. And that, especially for a journalist who is used to telling other people’s stories and never her own, left me feeling a bit exposed, like I had somehow pulled my heart out of my chest and laid it on the table.

Signing a book at the first book reading for "Diary of a Predator: A Memoir"

But it wasn’t my heart, it was my book, and the folks who came to the very first book reading at the Book Cellar in Louisville, Colo. on October 7 proved to me that they not only understood it but welcomed it. I felt supported and gratified beyond description.

Diary of a Predator A Memoir book signing

I give Ellen a hug at the book signing.

There were lots of people I wrote about in the book who showed up, among them, Ellen, whose amazing story is featured in Diary of a Predator: A Memoir.

Meeting someone like her, and continuing to know her, inspires me. And the fact that she and the others came to listen and support the book warms me, and gives me hope.

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Tagged as book, book reading, diary, diary of a predator: a memoir, journalist, memoir, predator, serial rapist, true crime